Too Sick to Write?

One of the toughest parts of being a writer is not being able to write. As human beings, it is inevitable that we will become sick from time to time and not even be able to lift our hands much less compose a readable sentence. I suffer from terrifying debilitating painful migraines that last for days and days. Sometimes I don’t know how I even survive them…or the writing droughts they create in their wake. Since I am not on my writing par, I have decided to post one of my short stories for my 4 subscribers to enjoy.

Teri Ann Harvey
Hello Kitty
It was a morning like any other. Except for a bit of a cough, I was fine. I waddled barefoot across my cold kitchen floor to the pantry where I would begin my morning routine of rice puffed cereal with four heaping spoonfuls of sugar. Dr. Oz would say I was addicted to sugar, but I would retort that my brand of cereal was repugnant without it. In my current economic situation, cereal for a buck is a good deal, even if it has to be drowned in sugary goodness.
As I reached into the pantry, I looked down to see Ginger, my kitty, staring up at me behind hopeful yellow eyes.
“Hello kitty,” I said.
“Meow,” she replied.
“Are you hungry?”
“Meow,” she replied.
“Okay, I’ll feed you in a minute.”
“Meow.” Ginger rubbed her orange cat face against the bag of Ally Cat, cat food. I could hear the bag cringle as she nudged and banged her head against it. I sniffled and coughed and interrupted my morning cereal routine in favor of the added step of cough medicine.
The comforting orange pills were unfortunately absent from my medicine cabinet so I had to settle for those lovely aquamarine caplets. I popped the shiny pill into my mouth and washed it down with a half of a bottle of red cold medicine I had gotten from the doctor same time last year.
I cringed and shook my mouth. I attempted to take a step, but when I looked down Ginger was at my feet staring up at me, her yellow eyes wide and wanting.
“Meow,” she said.
“What?”
“Meow.”
“What?”
“MEOOOOOW.”
“Okay, I’ll feed you.”
Then my other cat entered the room. Olly Wally never said much, but his arrogant cat eyes said it all. “Feed me now, or I shall bite you.”
“Okay, I’ll feed you too.”
“You’re below me,” I thought I heard him say as I turned back toward the pantry. I peered back at him, but he only gave me his normal impertinent “I’m a starving cat” stare. I opened up two packets of cat food and Olly Wally, and Ginger feasted. Then I feasted on my own sugary cereal.
After the kitties and I were finished eating, I felt just a smidge dizzy. I walked sideways across the room to put my bowl in the sink. Ginger and Olly Wally sat at my feet, their eyes fixed on mine.
“I already fed you,” I said.
Ginger leaned back on her hind legs and stood up straight and tall.
“Uh, Teri,” Ginger said. She had the voice of Sharon Osbourne. “I know you’re not feeling well, but will you take me somewhere. I’m bored and I really want to go somewhere.”
“Uh?” I responded.
“Can we drive in your car? You never take me anywhere,” Ginger said.
“You fool,” Olly said. He sounded strangely like Antonio Banderas. “When you get into the car, you know there is only one place that she could possibly be going.”
“I don’t need to go to the vet, Teri. I just want to drive a little. Can we please drive?”
“She’ll never go for it,” Olly said. “You have to control de human.”
Olly stood on his hind legs and he stared at me with his most superior air. “You will take us somewhere. You will take us somewhere now.”
“And you will let me drive,” Ginger added excitedly.
“And you will let the screw ball drive,” Olly continued.
I sighed heavily and rubbed my temples. I did need some daytime cold medicine, and I didn’t feel like driving myself.
“Let me get my keys,” I sniffled.

I sat in the front passenger side of my car and leaned back in the seat. Ginger was at the wheel. Olly was at the gas. Somehow, magically, the keys turned in the ignition and the car was put into drive.
“Gun it!” Ginger cried, and the car moved forward as the rotund Olly Wally pressed on the gas. The engine whirred as Ginger drove frantically through our neighborhood jerking the wheel to the left and to the right.
“Don’t crash us,” I said. “Stay on the road.”
“WOO HOO,” Ginger cried. “Give it more gas, Olly!”
Olly laughed his wicked Antonio Banderas laugh and pressed on the gas. The car went faster. Then there was a stop sign.
“BREAK!” Ginger hissed. The car screeched to a halt.
“Nice driving,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“Uh…” Ginger thought about it. “I don’t know. Human vet?”
“That’s not sounding like too bad of an idea,” I replied.
“I hit de gas?” Olly asked.
I looked both ways. “Yup.”
Olly leaned on the gas and we were in motion again. Ginger held onto the steering wheel white clawed as we motored closer to town. I nodded as the kitties drove through town. Ginger was a talented chauffer. I should have the kitties drive me everywhere.
“Squirrel!” Ginger cried suddenly. “Gun it, Olly!”
Olly hit the gas enthusiastically and the car zoomed off the road and into the park. The car plowed through fences and past picnic tables. It ran through the swing set and the tire spun in the flowerbeds flinging mud, soil, and decimated flowers in the air.
“It’s going up the tree, Olly,” Ginger cried. “Let’s get it.”
“No,” I cried. “Cars can’t climb—“
CRASH BANG SMASH
“Trees,” I finished.

I climbed out of the car. Ginger and Olly jumped out the window as a crowd formed outside the wreckage I stumbled and sat down next to the heap of ruined metal. Ginger jumped into my lap and purred loudly pushing her wet nose against my arm. Olly came around the car with the dead squirrel in his mouth.
“I got heem,” Olly said.
I shook my head. I was so dizzy. Then a police officer came onto the scene. He put his hands on his hips and said, “Who is responsible for this?”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at my beloved kitties. “It was them!”

Thanks for reading, buy a tie dye, and have the best day you’ve ever had in your life!